


Broader in the Shoulders

by sulkysheep



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Artist!Dean, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Pining, Short, Some Fluff, a lil bit of high school au with more age and sadness, all will be explained in the notes if you’re confused, both of them are kinda :(, hint: you will be, not enough if you ask me, writer!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 06:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15285585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulkysheep/pseuds/sulkysheep
Summary: All the memories Dean has of him bring a soft smile, a crinkle to the eyes — even the stupid arguments and harsh silences, which were always over the most trivial things. It was all slow, slow summer heat and lilacs, walking street corners with sweat-slick shirts and popsicles. Hiding in the dense green of the backyard and soaking themselves with the hose. Getting in stupid kiddie pools and watching the water splash and evaporate as it slipped down the plastic rim.Dean remembers sticky cherry pies and late night movies. He remembers falling in love.





	Broader in the Shoulders

**Author's Note:**

> no beta helping me out, so all mistakes are my own

All the memories Dean has of him bring a soft smile, a crinkle to the eyes — even the stupid arguments and harsh silences, which were always over the most trivial things. It was all slow, slow summer heat and lilacs, walking street corners with sweat-slick shirts and popsicles. Hiding in the dense green of the backyard and soaking themselves with the hose. Getting in stupid kiddie pools and watching the water splash and evaporate as it slipped down the plastic rim.

Dean remembers sticky cherry pies and late night movies. He remembers falling in love.

He sees Cas from across the crowded airport.

He’s different from the past, the Cas that is immortal in Dean’s teenage mind.

Yet, undeniably, it’s him. The same unreal, blue-bright eyes. Same tan skin and jaw, even with the prickly shadow shading it. He’s obviously made an upgrade, trading his faded t-shirts and beat-up sneakers for polos and blue jeans.

He may be broader in the shoulders, but he’s _Cas_ , so Dean waves him over anyway.

 

* * *

 

Dean rests his hand on the break, waiting for Cas to finish fiddling with his tie. When he finally looks up, Dean’s heart stutters before he gets himself under control again.

“Cas? You sure about this?”

He gives Dean a squint in response, like Dean’s asked the question a million times before.

Dean’s being obsessive, he knows. It’s all he can do to keep from breaking down right there on the spot. He’s tried so hard to forget that this day was coming.

The drive to the airport is quiet. Dean can feel his shoulders sag with the weight of the words left unsaid. He knows, for some time, he’s going to spend his nights wondering what would’ve happened if he pulled off the road and came clean right there.

If he was just _honest—_

This is what Cas wants, however. _What kind of asshole ruins their best friend’s dream?_

He fixes Cas’ tie in the terminal, still sloppy even though Cas was toying with it the entire way over. He straightens the rumpled suit jacket that’s just a tad too big for Cas’ frame, and tries his best to give something that resembles a smile.

Cas is leaving. Not _forever_ , he told Dean, but for a while.

It’s taking all of Dean’s strength to not beg, to not selfishly grab Cas and keep him at his side.

He wants to cough out the words that have been scratching at his throat since the beginning of that summer. Since the beginning of the _year._

He wants to say _I love you_.

But he can’t.

So Cas gets on that plane, none the wiser, and Dean cries the whole drive back home.

 

* * *

 

It’s been years. Sleepless, stressful years, but there’s always been room for Cas in his head.

He’s been in other relationships, sure. They’re always amazing— Benny was a great cook, and he’s fairly certain that if he stuck with Lisa, he’d be a married man. Yet, there was a voice in the back of his head that said something was off. _The eye shape isn’t quite right,_ or _too much of a morning person._

He avoids the voice for as long as he can, until he has to shut the door on yet another person.

When Cas first messaged him after six years with little to no contact, Dean jumped at the opportunity to see him.

He’d take _anything._ Now that it’s here, however, he realizes what a mistake that was.

He’s not over Cas, and Cas is definitely over him.

The drive to Dean’s house is just as tense as it was when he still didn’t know how to parallel park, when he still drowned in his father’s jacket and when Cas was still determined to stay with him.

Dean thought it’d be easier than this. Cas fidgets and Dean’s hands twitch in a gesture of comfort he just barely managed to think better of.

He hopes that this doesn’t become their new normal.

 

* * *

 

Dean rolls his eyes playfully at his mom, who is currently shoving him and Cas towards the stairs like a stressed parent on Christmas Eve.

“Moooommm,” he groans, and Cas gives him a teasing grin.

“She’s just protecting us from the horrors of sleep deprivation, Dean.”

He plasters on a look betrayal, turning to face Cas dramatically. “Who’s side are you _really on,_ Castiel? Have you been playing me this entire time?”

Cas nods solemnly, but Dean can see he’s fighting off a smile.

Fake-huffing, Dean stomps up the stairs as Cas’ laugh rings out from behind him.

“We’re seventeen, dammit! I demand a later bedtime!” Dean yells from the top of the stairs whilst trying to get Cas to stop pulling him towards his room.

Mom sighs, and mumbles to herself. Dean only catches the part about _sure don’t act like it_ before she goes back into the living room.

“Look what you did,” Cas says, slyly.  

Dean gives him a half-hearted shove. “At least I’m not the _cheater,_ here.”

“I never said it was a committed relationship, Winchester _._ ”

 

They then argue about who gets to shower first, until Dean decides to stay in the bathroom and make sure Cas doesn’t use up all the hot water. He pretends not to choke on his toothbrush when Cas gets out of the shower, scrambling away to get a towel with his face burning.

 

After that fiasco is over, and Dean’s certain his parents aren’t going to murder him in his sleep for being so loud, he slides into bed.

Cas, however, is looking at his sleeping bag like it’s murdered his favorite puppy.

Dean sighs when Cas turns the full force of his blue eyes on him, pleading without words.

“For the love of God, just get in,” Dean grumbles.

He then freaks out internally, because he does have a terrible habit of making decisions without thinking them through.

His heart is pounding in his ears when Cas climbs in with him. He’s achingly warm and so close — so close that Dean mumbles something about him being a blanket hogger before flipping on his side and praying that he doesn’t accidentally do something he’ll regret during the night.

 

* * *

 

Cas adjusts quickly.

He knows what time is Dean-time, staying away from his studio room when he gets in the mood to work on something. Sometimes, he’ll have a plate set out on the table, waiting for Dean. It’s nothing really fancy— just a sandwich with a drink and some chips, but it makes Dean feel warm.

Cas is as impassive as ever, tapping away at his laptop at a speed that scares Dean, but at least they’re communicating in some way. Even if it’s sandwiches.

 

Five weeks in, Dean is just putting down the phone in the receiver after ordering take out when Cas sits down on the couch, watching him.

Dean lets out a breath.

He’s not used to being a host— the only person he’s lived with besides his parents was Lisa, and that went to shit two years ago. He’s not good with being the most open and friendly person, but he thought Cas was okay with that. Dean thought he’d _understand._

Instead of sitting down with Cas, who’s clearly giving off _we-need-to-talk_ vibes, he goes to the kitchen, and fills a glass with water. Downs the thing, and pretends to look through the fridge. The entire time, all he can think is _Cas wants to leave. You can’t get over yourself and now he’s leaving again._

Finally, trying to occupy the space as casually as possible, Dean goes back into the living room and sits down.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I’ve—I’m having a tough time, as of late.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, it’s not everyday you randomly ask your old high school buddy to crash with them.”

Cas’ mouth tightens just the slightest bit, and Dean goes red. “Shit. Sorry man, I uh,” he lets out a breath. “I’m just a little jittery here.”

Cas gives him a little smile. “I’m not leaving, Dean. I’m just apologizing for my behavior.”

Dean attempts to find a response, but he must look confused because Cas elaborates. “I’m trying to start over. With my life.” Cas sits up straighter, hands twisting into knots in his lap. “With you.”

Just then, the doorbell rings. Dean thanks whatever’s out there that is looking out for him, because that sounded _very_ emotionally loaded.

So Dean tosses the conversation into the back of his mind. They eat together for the first time since Cas flew over, and it’s almost like old times.

_Almost._

 

Dean’s used to staying up late, thoughts bubbling around his head until he puts them down in a restless stupor.

Sometimes, he drinks.

Except, the guest bedroom is very close to the living room, and Cas has gotten in the habit of getting up when Dean is wandering aimlessly around the house, paint marking his arms and a look in his eyes.

Instead of Cas finding Dean, this time it’s Cas holding his head in his hands on the kitchen, his phone next to him. Dean tries to leave the room as quickly and quietly as possible, but the floorboards give him away.

Cas looks up.

He looks so hopeless, eyes a watery-grey in the light from the stove. The yellow-orange color cuts across his face, deepening the shadows that roll out under his cheekbones and eyes. One hand stays on his forehead, but the other falls to the table, covering his phone while telling Dean exactly what, or, more specifically, _who_ the problem is.

He gives Cas a small smile, walking over to the fridge and pulling out to beers. He motions for Cas to follow him, so he does.

The digital clock next to the TV reads _3:37 AM_. Dean grabs the remote and settles in, determined to show Cas the wonders of Netflix, and hopefully, something that’ll make him feel better.

By 6:30, they’re still up, and Dean has found that Cas prefers documentaries, just like he always did. Dean listens to David Attenborough talk about the hunting of routines of dolphins for another minute before he falls asleep.

It becomes a _thing,_ at least once a week. Late night sessions where they sometimes talk, sometimes not. Regardless, they sit together, and enjoy something.

It’s good progress.

If Dean stays up later, hoping Cas will be in the living room by the time he comes out, well.

No one but him needs to know.

 

* * *

 

The dirt is cold and wet under Dean’s toes, and he shudders. He doesn’t understand how Cas can manage being barefoot so often.

Sprawling out on the back-porch steps, however, he can’t find a reason to complain. His muscles ache, and his fingers hurt, but he’s happy. He glances over at Cas, who looks like he could slip into a coma and Dean wouldn’t notice the difference.

Cas’ older brother— Gabe, a guy who looks nothing like his sibling (he takes care of Cas good enough, Dean supposes, regardless of his own life choices) was out for the day, giving Cas the freedom to work on his garden uninterrupted.

He’s always known that Cas is kinda a nature-lover, and he’s mentioned a garden before, but in a way that gave Dean the impression that it was something small, like a tiny plot with cute flowers.

The garden was _definitely_ not small.

They spent the _day_ weeding, harvesting, and planting, as well as setting up another plot for Cas to start planting in, complete with cinder and topsoil.

Dean thinks even his eyebrows are tired.

He sits there on the creaky back porch for the longest time, highlighted by the dusk-rising moon and the house lights in the distance.

He hears Cas get up, the screen door swinging open and falling shut once. Everything is silent except for the crickets and passing cars, until Cas comes back with a cool lemonade in each hand. He plops down right next to Dean, handing him one before leaning back on one arm and letting out a sigh.

“Thanks Dean.”

“Don’t mention it.” Dean looks over and gives him a lazy smile. “Unless it turns out I’ve sprained something. Then you’re definitely paying for the medical bill.”

Dean sips his lemonade and looks away when Cas chuckles in response, so he doesn’t think about how badly he wants Cas to kiss him in this little pocket world filled with dark wind and soft light.

 

* * *

 

It starts off with little plants in the kitchen windowsill, flourishing in the sunlight that streamed through the glass each afternoon.

Soon enough, he finds Cas on the kitchen table, blue pen ink staining his fingers as he drew out what appeared to be a draft of some kind of structure.

Pouring a cup of coffee, Dean sits in the chair next to Cas, peering around his hands to see what exactly he was doing.

Cas chooses just _that_ moment to look at Dean, who was still invading Cas’ space to see what he was working on.

Cas’ eyes were intense from this close. They dipped down to look at Dean’s lips before they came up again, darker than before.

Dean stood up so fast he nearly hit his knee on the table, trying to casually put as much space as possible between the two of them.

Attempting to rest against the countertop, his elbow slipped. Dean then decided that the world was _not_ going to let him win, and completely gave up on any hope that it would do so.

Cas stares at him, his expression unreadable.

Clearing his throat loudly, Dean asks, “Hey buddy. What are you workin’ on?”

Looking like he’d almost forgotten he was working on anything in the first place, Cas glanced at the paper before answering. “I’m thinking about making a garden.” Cas smiles fondly. “Maybe like the one I had at Gabriel’s house.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, so I can be your worker again?”

“Excuse me,” Cas interjects, trying his best to sound indignant but failing miserably, “we _both_ worked in that garden.”

“Well, I cut myself, so. I bled for the damn thing.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and that was your fault.”

Grinning, Dean says, “Maybe. You have no proof.”

 

They go shopping that weekend, stopping by Home Depot and deciding on what to get. As it turns out, Cas still knows the most random facts about all things nature, which isn’t exactly discouraged by their late-night TV binges.

The lady checking them out eyes the two of them up, and Dean feels her watching them as they argue over who gets to wear which gloves.

As he puts the bags in the cart, she’s talking to another colleague, saying something Dean can barely catch.

_“Cutest couple that’s ever come in—“_

Dean wheels the cart out of there as fast as he can while still appearing sane, a befuddled Cas trying his best to keep up.

 

The first day they work, they don’t get much done. Cas wanted to start off with simply planting some flowers along the front of the house to “liven it up” (his words, not Dean’s), but they end up spending the rest of the afternoon having a very sneaky water fight.

At one point, Cas outright soaked him with the highest setting of the hose, and when Dean glared at him, he flatly said, “Whoops, my finger slipped.”

When Dean finally got him back, he laughed so hard at Cas’ scowl.

They spend the next couple of days working, Cas meeting with his agent and working out some formatting issues on his next book as Dean finally got around to sketching out his most recent idea.

Somehow, they manage to squeeze in more work four days later. This time, Cas is serious, explaining to Dean where the first level will be placed and how they were going to fill it.

Dean has to ask him about everything later, because he spaced out while staring at Cas’ mouth.

 

* * *

 

They’re cooling down for the night, Cas hanging off his bed with his phone in his hand, tapping out something as Dean sketches in one of his smaller moleskins. It’s a bit of comfortable quiet, the peace before they finally sleep.

He doesn’t realize Cas has stopped typing until he gets up and sits next to Dean in his fort of pillows.

“What’re you working on?” Cas asks.

Dean flushes, cheeks hot as he tries his best to cover his drawing. “N-nothing,” he says.

Cas frowns at him, confused, but doesn’t question him any further. As he turns off the room light and settles into his bed, Dean stares at his sketchbook, open and barely visible in the dim light of the room.

Dean knows what’s on the page, though. A life drawing of Cas laying in bed, upside-down as he writes, the crinkle in his brow somehow managing to make him seem more attractive.

Blushing, even though Cas isn’t looking, he shoves the sketchbook under his makeshift pillow. The entire thing is filled with half-finished doodles of Cas, Dean being too embarrassed to complete them.

He just doesn’t know _why._ Cas is attractive, yes. Yet, if that was the only reason Dean was drawing him, he’d ask Cas to pose for him and get it done.

 

When he wakes up the next morning, after having another dream of Cas holding him, he knows exactly why.

He packs the sketchbook away in his duffle bag and doesn’t think about it for a very long time.

 

* * *

 

Dean spends a lot of time these days staring at Cas, aching to comfort him, sitting on his hands to keep from doing so.

He finds himself reaching for a pencil out of habit, getting comfy and sitting down to sketch Cas’ jaw from a certain angle until he realizes what he’s doing.

He drops the pencil before he can make two lines.

He steps outside for a breather, feeling like it was only yesterday when he figured out why he drew Cas so much. Wanting every moment immortalized in his most personal belonging, all because—

 

Dean’s been in his room all day, working. Cas has passed by the rooms a couple of times, footsteps heavy on the floorboards, but the activity has since stopped. Last time Dean checked, it was late afternoon. Now, it’s 7 in the evening and there’s a knock at his studio door.

“I’m coming in,” Cas says loudly through the door, before Dean has time to cover his canvas.

“Dean, I made—“ Cas gets out before he sees what sits on the canvas. Two blue eyes, bottomless as they peer down in modesty, sleek lines of cheek bones accenting full lips. Dean has to admit it’s the best work he’s made in weeks, partially because Cas is the subject, and also because it’s a spitting image of _said_ subject.

Cas says nothing, so Dean covers it. He turns his back to Cas before he asks, “What is it?” His voice shakes.

“I just wanted to—“ Cas clears his throat, like he feels as nervous as Dean does. “I wanted to tell you. About what happened.”

 

They sit down at the table, dinner already portioned out. Dean stuffs himself, desperate to avoid whatever is bothering Cas to the point where he’s barely touching his food.

“I was kicked out by my family. I wanted to pursue my writing but they didn’t like it.”

Dean chokes on the water he was drinking, shocked by how sudden and matter-of-fact Cas said what he just did. “Cas,” he sputters. “I thought— I thought you wanted to be a part of the family company.”

Sorrowfully, Cas looks at him. “I never did. That’s why I stayed with Gabe for my last year of high school. I wanted to,” he sighs, deflating. “I wanted to experience the life I was never going to have again.”

Staring, Dean says, “I thought you wanted to go.”

“Dean, I’ve wanted to be a writer for my entire life. Inheriting the business was never something I wanted to do.”

He knows he’s been redundant and needy, but this is _news_ to Dean. “I thought you wanted to leave. Leave me.”

Cas stands up. He gives a faint smile. “Dean, if I had a choice, I would’ve been right next to you for the past six years.”

Dean’s heart pounds.

Cas goes around the table, stepping just a bit closer, like he’s afraid Dean will run if he moves too fast.

“All this time, I’ve only been able to write about _you._ Ever since that summer,” Cas lets out a shaky breath, “I haven’t been able to find someone I wanted to be with more.”

At this point, Dean thinks about all his sketchbooks, filled with eyes that _just_ don’t look right, fit on a face blurred with time. He’s been wishing and dreaming and _denying_ himself something that was waiting the entire time.

“I was hoping,” Cas continues, “that you felt that connection, too.” He says it like he doesn’t realize how long Dean’s been gone on him, how he tried to run before Cas even thought of planning this.

Even then, he couldn’t. He couldn’t get over Cas the day he left, and he hasn’t been able to since.

It doesn’t look like he’ll have to worry about that anymore.

So, Dean stands up. Bridges the gap.

He may be broader in the shoulders, but he’s _Cas_ , so Dean kisses him anyway.

 

**Author's Note:**

> whew!! this has been completely unpolished, sitting in my drafts for the l o n g e s t time. I’m glad it’s finished. I wish I could’ve added more characters and depth, but I wanted it done. maybe when I’m a c t u a l l y good at writing I’ll attempt to fix this.
> 
> if you didn’t get what was going on (very possible, I made it vague on purpose), Cas is brought up in a strict family, and in a last ditch attempt to feel what it’s like to have a normal life, he stays with his older brother Gabe for his senior year in high school. he and dean become instant friends. the summer before Cas leaves Dean, they develop complex feelings. the story is a mix of then and now
> 
> hopefully you liked this!! mwah mwah mwah!!! have a good day!! :)


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